‘Well, thank God for that. I don’t want me neighbours thinking anything is up, here in our house. You had better tell them if they ask when you go out. I feel ashamed having a police car outside me house.’
‘There is no police car now. I had it moved down onto Queens Drive. I didn’t want you to feel worried about that,’ said Howard with all the charm he could muster.
An hour later, Stanley’s mother was in bed, having left nothing short of a feast on a tray for the officer whom Howard left behind, with explicit instructions.
‘The only thing we have got so far is the name of two of the people who Daisy can confirm visited Father James at the Priory and we know what they were up to. She has given us some shocking details. We also know that Simon worked with them and that it was he who delivered Daisy to the convent. The pieces of the jigsaw are slipping into place.
‘Stanley is the next piece. The psychologist at the hospital tells me Stanley will be anxious about his mother and will, at some stage, attempt to return home, if only to reassure himself that she is well. We also know that he is working with someone, because whoever it was called here to spin a story to Stanley’s mother. If only the other porter, Austin, or Simon were being as cooperative, eh? Stay hidden and keep your eyes and ears open. If he returns home and you miss him, you will be looking for a new job tomorrow, do you understand?’
The police officer looked terrified. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good, now I’m off to my new home and my new bride. It feels as if I have barely seen my wife since we stood at the altar. Stay out of sight, and make sure the old woman is in bed as soon as possible. If he returns tonight and clocks that the lights are on, he will think she is still up and we don’t want her being around when he’s nicked.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said PC Shaw. ‘Er, sir, what’s that white stuff on your shoulder?’
Howard hadn’t heard him. The probationary officer spoke to his retreating back as Howard almost ran towards Queens Drive, where he had left the car parked. The room filled with the squawks of an accomplished budgie.
Stanley’s mother lingered before finally taking herself off to bed.
‘Are you sure you’re gonna be all right now, just sat here in the kitchen on yer own?’ she asked PC Shaw at least half a dozen times.
She made one last descent in a hairnet and no teeth, to leave the biscuit barrel on the table and to quiz the officer.
‘I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve got a funny feeling in me water I have. Is that CID officer all right or what? He kept telling me Stanley was helping the hospital and the police, but with what? He’s never said nothin’ to me. I don’t understand what’s going on, like.’
Finally, as soon as PC Shaw heard the bedside light click off, he dived at the food she had left for him, kept fresh between two plates. Corned-beef sandwiches on thickly buttered white bread were piled high, together with a home-made Victoria jam sandwich.
As he munched the first sandwich, he looked round the room.
Who would have thought it, eh? he mused. Normal mam, normal house. So what turns someone into the sick weirdo Stanley obviously was? Shuddering at the thought of a man who desired children, the PC knew what he would do if he ever caught anyone near his own daughter.
‘I’d chop his bloody dick off,’ he muttered to himself.
His thoughts wandered to the murder of the dead priest and his detached body part. Just as a penny rolled to the edge of his thoughts, about to drop… he heard a noise. It was a key in the front door.
Begrudgingly, he placed the remaining sandwich on the plate, secreted himself behind the door and waited.
‘Mam,’ Stanley whispered as he opened the door into the kitchen. Only the glow from a small lamp on the sideboard illuminated the room.
‘Mam,’ he whispered again, this time with more urgency.
He had opened the kitchen door wide and blinked before he knew what had happened. His arm was up his back and the PC, his handcuffs ready, had snapped them on within seconds.
‘Never mind your mam, you dirty perv, you’re nicked, mate.’
The budgie squawked his greeting from the cage, ‘Hello, Stanley,’ just as his mother called down the stairs, ‘Stanley, is that you?’
While the PC radioed for a police car, Stanley’s mam got up, tied the belt on her dressing gown and ran her false teeth under the tap to wash off the Steradent tablet, quickly popping them back into her mouth. Her bedroom was suddenly filled by the blue flashing light of a police car, parked right outside her front door.
‘Oh God, Stanley, what have you done?’ she muttered as she walked down the stairs. ‘Honest to God, the shame.’
14
‘I’M BACK,’ SHOUTED Harriet as she burst in through the Priory door, causing it to swing on its hinges and crash against the wall. She continued to shout as she threw her hat on the hall table. ‘I am so starving hungry, are you?’
Harriet had never in her life entered a room with any degree of caution. There was simply no need. No fearful shock had ever hidden behind any closed door, nor hit her in the face when least expected. Nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary had jumped up and bitten her. Harriet had never known fear.
She had just finished delivering leaflets to the houses on the four streets. She removed the satchel, slung across her shoulders, that held the remaining leaflets and placed it with a thud on the table, next to her hat.
She had spent the early part of morning at the Priory with the plainclothes police officers while they interviewed Daisy, who was excited beyond all notion that her brother would be arriving in Liverpool the following week, to collect her in person. They weren’t taking any chances this time. There was no question of Daisy being put on a boat alone, as Alison had argued.
‘God alone knows where you would end up this time. We might find ourselves answering a call from America. Only you, Daisy, could board the Liverpool to Dublin ferry and quite possibly end up in New York,’ she had joked.
Despite that, they struggled to laugh. Everyone was keeping a very careful eye on Daisy, until she had been handed over to her brother.
The new commanding officer had explained the plan of action in detail to the gathered group – Daisy, Miss Devlin, Sister Evangelista, Harriet and Father Anthony – who had all listened intently over tea and hot toasted muffins, dripping with butter and strawberry jam. Harriet was never happier than when people left the Priory with a full stomach, whatever the time of day.
‘We are on our way over to Ireland this afternoon,’ Howard had said, ‘to determine how the arrangements were made for Daisy to be delivered to the convent and why that particular convent was chosen. The police officer in custody is refusing to tell us anything, so, ladies, we are slightly stuck. However, it will take only a little good old-fashioned footwork to sort things out.’
They were all impressed with the competence of the commander who had taken over the reins of the investigation, immediately drafting Howard in as his number two. This made sense, given that Howard was completely up to date on all that had happened during the previous investigation and was already an invaluable member of the team. The commanding officer had even hinted at promotion, if the case reached a successful conclusion.
The fact that Howard and Alison had cancelled their honeymoon to the Isle of Man, losing their deposit on the bed and breakfast they had booked months ago, had not gone unnoticed by Howard’s senior officers. The uniformed officers down at Whitechapel were hugely disappointed that one of their own was locked in a police cell, and stinking guilty as hell.
‘Do you have to shout every single time you walk in through the front door, Harriet?’ Father Anthony placed his finger to his lips, which were smiling at his little sister, always so full of life. ‘Shh,’ he said, ‘I have a visitor in the office.’
‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Wayward housekeeper here, not doing her job properly.’
Harriett grimaced playfully.
‘Not at all. Could you make tea? I
have no idea what has happened to Annie O’Prey. Sheila knocked on the Priory door and Annie just disappeared without a by-your-leave. That woman is the end, Harriet. If you didn’t like her so much, she would have to go. She makes delicious cakes but she is really a law unto herself. Anyway, fetch the tea, would you, and bring it to the study. I want you to join us as this is very much your project, not mine. Mr Manning is here to talk to us.’
Harriet felt a thrill run down her spine. Oh God, how should I act? Indifferent? Cold? Friendly?
‘Mr Manning?’ she hissed. ‘Were you expecting him?’
‘No, although I did tell him to call in if he had any news or if he wanted further information. But I didn’t really expect him to just pop in without at least a phone call from his secretary first, unless, of course, he had an ulterior motive for visiting.’ Anthony winked at Harriet who blushed from head to toe.
Harriet quickly checked her hair in the hall mirror. Licking her fingertips, she ran one along each eyebrow, pushing them into shape. Having fluffed up her hair and pinched her cheeks, she swept into the office where, without any warning whatsoever, her beauty knocked Benjamin Manning completely off his feet.
‘Mr Manning,’ Harriet trilled breezily.
Just in the nick of time, she erased from her face the instinctive look of sympathy that threatened to appear as Ben struggled to rise from his chair to greet her.
Harriet was beset by feelings she had never known before, despite her age, and she had no idea how to deal with them.
She blushed again, her palms sweated, her eyes shone and her heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
He noticed.
‘Good morning,’ he replied, but his mouth was so dry that his response was barely audible. He held out his hand, which trembled like a leaf in the breeze.
She noticed.
It had begun.
15
MAGGIE AND ONE of the orphan girls were in the process of removing fifteen loaves of hot bread from the oven when Sister Theresa arrived, unannounced.
As was her way, she issued no greeting.
‘Are we managing to bottle enough gooseberries for the winter? Sister Perpetua thinks we have less in hand than last year, despite the good weather.’
‘Oh, aye, we are that,’ replied Maggie, barely hiding a hint of indignation. ‘I have plenty bottled in the cellar and if there’s any more late crop come through, Frank thinks we may be able to squeeze out another half-dozen jars or so from the plants in the glasshouse.’
Sister Theresa looked far from mollified.
‘Good. Sister Perpetua also tells me some of the apples have been stolen.’
‘Ah, well, I think one or two of the windfalls from the other side of the railings may have gone, but, sure, they would have been full of maggots and no good to us now,’ Maggie replied.
‘That’s not the point, Maggie. Any child who steals from us should be up before the magistrate. Thou shalt not steal is an important lesson to be learnt.’
‘But, sure, Sister Theresa, these children have walked a mile to steal a rotten apple, because they are hungry. Surely the good Lord wouldn’t mind a bit of that in their bellies? It would give them the cramps as it is. Is that not a fair punishment?’
‘There is no excuse for stealing, Maggie. It is wrong. If you see any child doing it, I want them caught and reported.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ said Maggie, with a heavy heart and no intention of doing any such thing.
The children hadn’t stolen any apples. She and Frank had picked the windfalls and kept them in a basket behind the lodge. They knew every child from the village and their parents. Frank and Maggie dished out the apples when the children came along, to save them from the sin of stealing or, worse, being caught.
‘We are using the salt fish today with tatties,’ said Maggie, in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
As Sister Theresa looked round the kitchen, her gaze alighted on the orphan girl helping Maggie.
There was a note of alarm in her voice as she asked, ‘Where’s the girl?’
Maggie didn’t need to ask, which girl? ‘She has the vomiting bug and, sure, I don’t want it, Sister, so I’ve confined her to her room. The last thing we need is vomiting to sweep through this place now and I don’t want to be laid up or none of us will eat.’
Sister Theresa looked at the door of the storeroom where Daisy was expected to sleep and which opened straight onto the kitchen. It was closed and Maggie had locked it. The key felt as though it were burning a hole through her apron pocket and scalding her thigh.
Her heart beat wildly as the Reverend Mother stared at the door for what seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly she turned back to Maggie.
‘Very well, but don’t let her shirk, though. Back to work as soon as she is well. The bishop is in Liverpool for a meeting about the new cathedral, but he told me he wants to see her when he returns.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ said Maggie.
Maggie kept her head bent as she turned the loaves out onto the long wooden table. She daren’t look up in case Sister Theresa detected the panic in her eyes.
Later that evening, when her work was done and she was back at the lodge, Maggie recounted the visit to Frank. They had settled in front of the fire, the way they did each night before bed. Rain was falling steadily, as it had done for most of the day. The fire struggled to catch and throw out a decent flame as smoke billowed back into the kitchen. In another of their familiar nightly rituals, each held an enamel mug of poteen, brewed by Frank himself in a still kept hidden, behind a false wall in the potting shed. He and Maggie often laughed at the thought of what the nuns would do, if they knew Frank brewed his own poteen in the convent grounds.
‘Jesus, they would choke and die, wouldn’t they just,’ said Maggie as she took her first sip.
Tonight, they talked about the Reverend Mother’s visit to the kitchen and Daisy’s whereabouts.
‘That’s three days she has been gone now. I reckon we have another week. Reverend Mother, she never visits the kitchen more than once a week. What will we say, Frank, when they discover she has disappeared?’
‘You will wail and cry, Maggie, about how that girl took advantage of you, letting her rest whilst she was sick, that’s what. No finger of suspicion must ever point at us. Let’s hope the police are listening to Daisy and her story.’
‘Aye, if she is following the instructions I gave her and there is a God, all should be well.’
Maggie looked again at the letter they had received from the foreman, Jack.
‘Carry on reading now, before the poteen knocks ye out for the night,’ said Frank.
Frank had worked in the fields since he was six years old and had never learnt to read. Maggie had attended the local school religiously and had excelled at English and maths, despite frequently receiving the cane across her palms whenever she made the slightest error.
The nuns had failed to beat an aptitude for learning out of Maggie, as they had with most children. Rather, they beat a resilience and determination into her, to get her own back one day.
Maggie resumed reading.
Because she told me on the way over that one of the men she needed to report was a policeman from Liverpool, I decided to take her to the police station in Holyhead.
They were very good and kept her in overnight. I agreed to keep an eye on her, as promised, and booked into the pub next door to the police station for the night. When I called back the next morning, they told me they had got a mighty statement from her and they were taking her to Liverpool where they were hopefully going to make an arrest before the day was out. I have no idea who he was, but a very senior man from the Welsh police came to the station. They let me go and told me that what Daisy had told them amounted to a kidnapping, which is a very serious offence.
I have to say, your comments in the letter about her brother being the state solicitor of Dublin made them jump and I know they telephoned him. I didn’t mention your names as promised.<
br />
It was a pleasure to get to know you both and, Frank, I look forward to welcoming you to the Shamrock pub in Liverpool, for a return Guinness one day soon, mate.
Your pal from Liverpool,
Jack
‘That makes me feel good, so it does, that such a bad man will get his due deserts because we have played our part.’
‘Aye, it does. Me too, Frank,’ said Maggie thoughtfully. ‘Watch out for Sister Perpetua. She wants to see kids from the village locked up for stealing apples. Telling tales to the Reverend Mother so she is. She’s a wicked one, that one. Watch yer back.’
‘Aye, I’ve noticed her snooping around the vegetable gardens a few times. I will, Maggie, don’t worry about me. I keep my wits about me at all times. No one can catch me out.’
Frank had no idea. Someone already had.
Sister Perpetua sat in her room, making yet another entry in the journal she had been keeping over the last month. She knew that when she approached the Reverend Mother, she would need to present a cast-iron case. Not of a single event that could be explained away, but a whole list, which would demonstrate a pattern of deceit, theft and bad behaviour.
Only a few weeks earlier, Sister Perpetua had caught one of the girls returning to the orphanage from the kitchen with her pockets stuffed full of biscuits. When they were removed from her and she was beaten, she confessed to Sister Perpetua that the cook, Maggie, had given them to her.
This had not been an isolated incident. Only the previous week, Sister Perpetua had seen Frank passing vegetables through the railings to the village children. Last night, she had seen him taking a bottle of clear liquid from the potting shed and slipping it into his jacket pocket. Her suspicions now thoroughly aroused, she kept an eye on Frank from the orphanage, which overlooked the vegetable gardens, and with her own eyes she had seen him sneakily carry a basket of apples round the back of the orchard to the lodge.
The Four Streets Saga Page 82